my nose as hard as a left jab. A note was taped to the outside: Bought too much. Have my extra biscuit. –R.
My brow creased, and I glanced up at Tammy, but she was loading ingredients into a blender. A guy the size of Rook probably ate five of these for breakfast. I didn’t understand.
“You’d better hurry up before the ladies start showing up for Zumba,” Tammy called without turning around.
I decided not to question it and carried the food back with me to the locker room. Flag on the door and sign in place, I pulled back the wrapper, and the minute that savory cheese, spicy sausage, and buttery egg hit my tongue, I leaned against the wall and let out a low groan. In three bites, it was gone.
* * *
E verything was cleaned and squared away by early afternoon, and I headed back to the front to return my key and check out. I’d done my best to avoid members, and I’d only passed a brief greeting to Pete, who seemed to be the only trainer working this weekend besides Tammy. He was nice enough, but I didn’t take it any further.
A slender girl with light-brown hair pulled up in a long, messy ponytail was behind the bar now, and without even looking, I could feel her watching me closely.
“Hey.” She spoke fast, like a short order cook. “It’s Slayde, right? What brings you to The Jungle Gym?”
I was tired and hungry and not in the mood to answer questions, so I didn’t.
Without looking up, I went to my slot, where I found another bag waiting for me. Pulling it out, I shoved my key in its place, catching another whiff of what smelled like food in the mystery package. I wanted to go to the truck and open it right away, but when I turned around, the girl was doing something with her hands.
My brow lined as I watched her. She waved her hands in a sweeping motion then circled one around her finger. The entire time her eyes bored into mine as if they were attempting to communicate silently.
“What are you doing?” My voice was husky from not talking all day.
She straightened, blinking fast, and her cheeks flushed slightly. “I was asking if you spoke sign language.”
“Why would you ask me something like that?” I surveyed her appearance—long, tie-dyed smock over a white tank and jeans that were shredded at the knees. Around her neck were several necklaces in addition to the lanyard holding her key, and her fingers were covered in rings.
“You didn’t answer when I spoke to you, so I thought maybe...” Her light-brown eyes traveled down to my throat. “I just finished this novel about a guy with no voice. It was really hot.”
“I can speak just fine. I’m also tired and hungry. I’ve been here since seven, and I don’t feel like answering twenty questions.” Even that much explanation was pissing me off.
Her eyebrows rose, and she leaned forward on the bar, giving me a little smile. “I can make you a matcha-tea smoothie if you want. It’s my newest specialty. Very relaxing and full of protein.”
“I don’t like smoothies.” It was a lie. I didn’t have money to pay for it.
“Oh, I’m a wizard at them. You’ll love it.” She leaned back and eyed me up and down. “I’m Mariska, by the way.”
“I’ll take a pass, Mariska. I’m heading out.”
Her pink lips pressed together in a thin line. She was pretty. Hell, she was really pretty, but I wasn’t interested in female drama, much less from a hippie-chick who spoke sign language.
“You’re going to have to try one at some point. I’m here every day but Friday.” She gave me a wink, but I kept going. “See you tomorrow!”
My truck waited for me like an old, rusty dinosaur in the parking lot. I didn’t even bother to lock the door. If somebody wanted to steal this piece of shit, they got what was coming.
Sliding across the cracked vinyl seat, I lowered the visor and caught the silver keys as they fell. Opening the white sack, I found a bacon club. Fuck, it was like sex in a paper wrapper. I sat in that back
Learning to Kill: Stories